


Insufficient

by jarebear20



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Modern Character in Thedas, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2020-07-05 18:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarebear20/pseuds/jarebear20
Summary: 9:30 Dragon. The nation of Ferelden is on the brink of war, with the machinations of those with ulterior motives setting the stage for all out conflict as the Blight looms on the edge of the Korcari Wilds.Transported into Thedas, one woman is found by a group of Avvar and brought to their hold, where she is given a chance to live under the name of Heda Snow-Walker. Any plans she had on staying uninvolved with the Fifth Blight, however, are shattered when tragedy strikes, and now her only chance at survival lies within the armies at Ostagar.Too bad she already knows how that will go.





	1. A storm of ice and snow

“We should return to the hold,” Thorvard advised as the longhouse came into view. “The lass is dead.”

“Are you that eager to admit that you have lost the favor of the Mountain Father?” Ragna Visätedottir asked with a curl of her lips. 

Thorvard refused to let her words rankle him. He had hunted in these lands for far longer than Ragna’s eighteen winters and had no shame in putting forth offerings to Korth. “Why must we trouble ourselves for a lowlander?” he asked. “Let her own god take her if the Lady will not.”

“How do you know that our Lady has not led us here?” Ragna returned. “Do you speak on her behalf now, Thorvard Red-Hare?”

“Tova found her,” Thorvard said. “And it is she that insists on taking us on this foolhardy diversion. Not the Lady.”

Tova had wondered how long it would take for them to bring her into the conversation. She had used the limp body she now carried as an excuse not to speak, but that only worked for so long. “There is life within this lowlander still.”

“Yes but for how much longer?” Thorvard wanted to know. “How long was she in the snow, with no furs to keep out the chill?”

“You could have offered her your furs,” Ragna pointed out. “Wrapped her in them until we reached the hold.”

Thorvard barely glanced at her. “And freeze myself? Then you would have two bodies to carry, whelp.”

Tova saw the way Ragna twitched at the name, saw the way her gloved hand clenched into a fist beneath the edge of her thick leather cloak. Ragna had been brought up in the hold, and struggled with being taken seriously as a hunter by those who had seen more winters than she. Still, there was no one as quick with a bow as Ragna in Tova’s view, making her invaluable when it came to gathering food for the coming season. 

Tova knew how important it would be in the coming weeks to build up a reserve to see them through the harsh winter ahead. Had she not lost her own family to hunger three winters ago? The ache in her chest reminded her of what she had lost, of what she could lose again, if she did not push herself. 

She understood where Thorvard was coming from, however much she wished to the gods that she did not. Seven days their hunting party had traveled from the hold deep within the mountains towards the lowlander settlement known as Jader. Game was scarce, but they had picked up the trail of a herd of druffalo on the third day. By the fifth they had only found a few weaker bovine that would only see them through a couple of months at best. If not for this lowlander, they would be at home with the rest of their party to make restitution to Korth for whatever offense had been made to the Mountain-Father.

Tova glanced down at the woman she had been carrying for most of the day. They had done their best to warm her with a few of the druffalo pelts, but little color had returned to her cheeks. If not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, Tova might have agreed with Thorvard’s assessment of the lowlander being dead. 

She should have listened to the others. Like Thorvard, they had tried to tell her to abandon the lowlander to whatever fate the gods had for her. But they had not seen the fear in the woman’s eyes before she succumbed to the cold. If they had, they might have seen what Tova had and what had kept her from leaving the lowlander to the cold.

Her son had come back to her.

Had the augur not promised her as such? Few were fated to return to the lands of mortals, but her son held favor with the gods and would be returned to her in due time. Now was that time.

“The others are not far off,” Tova said. “If you truly feel this task is foolish, Thorvard, you may return with them. I intend to see this through even if you do not.”

“I never said that I would not.” Thorvard scowled. “Only that I see no point in troubling Asleif when there is nothing to be done. She has earned her rest.”

Asleif An Kolskegg had been the shaman of Frosthold when Tova had been a mere whelp. Though it had been many winters since she had left the hold to confer with the Lady of the Skies, Tova knew that Asleif would be the one to help them. 

“Will she even see us?” Ragna asked. It was the first time she voiced any dissent with Tova’s planning. “You know how great she values her solitude.”

“She will see me,” Tova insisted. Looking up at the longhouse, she squared her shoulders and started up the path, barely visible in the waning light. 

A storm of ice and snow had passed through the mountains the night before, and even the most worn of paths had pockets to catch the unwary. Asleif had built her new home upon a ridge overlooking the valley. One wrong step would send both Tova and the lowlander she carried plummeting to their deaths.

The sky had darkened to a deep, rich purple by the time her feet found level ground. The wind had picked up as well, stinging her face. Behind her, Tova could hear Thorvard muttering as he and Ragna followed her to the front steps of the old shaman’s home.

“Asleif!” Tova called out, her voice startling the rams in a nearby pen. “We require your aid!”

The howl of the wind was all that greeted her.

“Are we sure she has not gone to meet with the Lady?” Ragna asked now. “Something about this does not feel right.”

Tova shook her head. “The Augur would have informed our thane.” Even if she was no longer their shaman, no one truly left the hold. She turned back to the entryway. “Please Asleif! It is I, Tova An Solvi! I would not be here if it was not vital!”

For a moment, she thought that her plea would go unanswered. Tova thought of how long it would take to return to the hold, if the lass would live that long. She did not hear the creak of the door over the wind. If not for the small gasp behind her, she might not have noticed that she now had an audience.

Tova was struck by how little the shaman had changed in all the winters since she had last seen her. There were a few extra lines around the mouth, it was true, but the Asleif before them could have easily been the one from her memory. With hair the color of moonlight, still bound in those tightly corded ropes that fell past her waist, Asleif watched her carefully.

“When I took up residence here, it was with the belief that I would not be disturbed.” Asleif gestured to Tova and those that followed her. “And yet, here you are.”

“Forgive us, Asleif.” Tova might have bowed, if not for the burden she carried. “I would not have come if--”

“--If it were not vital,” Asleif finished. “Very well, bring her inside before the chill takes us all.”

The heat of the fire in the center of the room was a welcome relief. Tova carefully laid the lowlander as close as she dared to the fire pit. “We found her stumbling around in the snow,” she explained, watching Asleif kneel next to her. “We tried to keep her warm, but I did not think we could make it to the hold in time if she has been bitten by frost.”

Undoing the druffalo pelts, Asleif looked over the woman’s frame. Tova wondered if she saw the same thing she did: the strange clothes, the pale skin that had started to change color from being exposed to the snow. She had not known a lowlander to be so foolish as to be walking this far into the mountains without the proper protection.

“You did well to bring her to me.” Asleif brushed a strand of the lowlander’s dark hair away from her face. “She needed to be away from the cold. And now we must do our best to warm her up. Come, help me remove these garments from her.”

Thorvard had come with them to lend what assistance he could, but upon hearing that they would be disrobing the lowlander, he excused himself to the other end of the longhouse where Ragna sat. 

Once the lowlander had been stripped of her wet attire, Asleif and Tova dressed her in a spare tunic and trousers to keep her body from growing colder while they worked. Placing her hands over the woman’s body, Asleif whispered in the old tongue and Tova watched as a pale yellow light poured from her fingertips.

“Has she wakened since you found her?” Asleif asked as her magic sank into the lowlander’s body. Her mouth thinned when Tova answered negatively. “Then frost is not the only problem here. We need to warm her body slowly. I have some blankets in a chest near my bed. Retrieve them for me.”

Tova did as she was told and returned with the blankets in hand. She wrapped the woman as best she could without interrupting Asleif's magic.

“Her heart’s wine has slowed from the cold.” Asleif did not look up from her work. “If it were a simple matter of chill, warming her with furs would be sufficient. But now we must take extra care to warm her, lest her heart reject it.”

Tova wanted to ask her how she was going to accomplish that, but Asleif wore an expression that had her biting her tongue. It was similar to the expression the augur wore when young ones prodded her too often. “What would you have me do?” she asked instead.

“Let me do what you came here for.” Now Asleif did look to her. “Join your fellow hunters in warming yourself. If anything changes I will call for you.”

Tova looked down at the lowlander lying still on the druffalo pelts and felt fear clutch at her heart. The gods had only just returned her son to her...surely they would not take him away so soon? She leaned down and pressed her lips to the woman’s forehead. 

“Find your way back, my heart,” she whispered. “I have much to tell you when you wake.”

Asleif remained silent as Tova retreated to the other side of the longhouse, her focus on warming this lowlander before the Lady took her away. It was difficult work--though she knew of the magics that could twist the heart’s wine of any being, she had never actually used them herself. The spirits did not care for such wickedness unless they had become twisted themselves.

No, this required a more straightforward approach. One that she knew would not be easier by any stretch of the imagination, but if this woman was to live, there was no other course of action she could take.

“Mountain-Father!” she spoke now. “Lady of the Skies! I am in need of your assistance.” Asleif smiled as she felt a surge in her magic. Looking to the source, she saw a familiar form shrouded in golden light before her. “Hope. It has been some time.”

The spirits often took a form that was most comfortable for the mages. For Asleif, this one looked like her mother. “Indeed.” Hope watched her from its spot near the fire. “Is there something you wished to speak of, shaman?”

“No.” Asleif looked down at the lowlander. Not for the first time, she wondered what might have caused such a person to come here. Was it fate? Or simply chance? “This one has fallen in the mountains. I cannot wake her until her body is ready, but I cannot know when that is. I need help.”

Hope was never one to turn down a chance to help. “What do you require of me?”

“Help me tend to her, keep her body from rejecting the warmth. Sooth her. I would not have her lash out like a bear cub when she wakes.”

Wordlessly, Hope reached out and pressed a tendril of light to the prone woman’s forehead. The body lurched then, one quick solitary jerk that had a sound of alarm coming from the other end of the longhouse, only for it to slump against the pelts. Asleif let out a small sound of relief as she went back to her work.

“What is it?” Tova had returned to her side. Asleif should have known she would not be able to stay away for long. 

“The spirits have graced us with their help.” Her hands hovering over the woman’s heart, Asleif began to coaxing her magic slowly through the body. Too fast and the rejection she had spoken to Tova would be a very real possibility. Her magic would be of little help if she moved too slowly. Like most things, this required a very delicate balance.

She did not send Tova away this time, instead letting the woman watch as she worked. She knew not how long it took, the span of a breath or perhaps most of the evening, but Asleif could feel the change in the lowlander’s body the moment it happened. 

The heart, no more than a flutter once, now began to beat as strong as any well oiled drum. Skin that had been as pale as fresh snow looked warm in the glow of the fire.

“Hope?” Asleif called gently.

The lowlander’s mouth opened. “She struggles.” The sadness could be heard in that ethereal voice. “Where am I? I shouldn’t be here! Oh god, what if I can’t get home? It’s so cold...”

“Hope.” Asleif’s voice was stronger now. It would be a simple task for Hope to get lost in the emotions of the woman they were trying to help. “Can you help her rest?”

“So cold…” The woman fell silent, and for a moment she thought it would remain as such forever. But the steady rise and fall of her chest proved that there would come a time when the women would be able to speak again. 

Then the hold could find out what she was doing in the mountain pass. Asleif’s mouth thinned at the thought, but she reminded herself that she was no longer involved with the affairs of the hold. It would be something for the augur to deal with, not her. 

For now, she would have to keep an eye on the lowlander, and make sure her body was healing properly. It would do her no good to suddenly go into shock after surviving as long as she did. 

“What now?” Tova asked, looking up at the shaman once more. 

“Now we wait. The rest is up to her.”


	2. Ill Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet morning takes an interesting turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Sal over on the APM discord server for beta-ing this chapter for me.

The morning came crisp and clear, with a fresh layer of snow from the storm that had come during the night covering everything. The adults of Frosthold awoke before the sun could properly rise over the mountain peaks, more than a hundred among them, and she roused herself from slumber to begin the day with them. It was the end of the third month of her time with the Avvar, and one hundred and one days since she first appeared in the Frostback Mountains. 

Wrapped in a blanket to ward off the worst of the cold, she staggered towards the fire in the room’s center, where she found a bowl of porridge waiting for her. She gobbled it down quickly, still trying to fully awaken as she watched Tova lay out their clothing for the day. For Heda, there was a pleated linen under-dress, an apron dress dyed a vibrant shade of blue, and a matching cloak lined in yellow. A thick pair of wool socks and leather boots finished the look. 

Tova’s clothes were more fitting for a hunter: a thick pair of trousers, a tunic over which her leather cuirass could cover her vital organs. But there was no need for the armor today; a hunt had not been called by the thane of the hold. 

They dressed quietly; any shyness she might have once possessed had long since faded with the knowledge that it had been Tova who had nursed her back to health after bringing her to the hold. Even if that were not the case, the dwarven woman’s behavior made it clear that she saw her as a mother viewed her own child. 

Perhaps she needed that comfort, just as Tova needed the comfort of having someone need her once more. She did not protest as she was sat down and her hair seen to, with it being brushed thoroughly before it was braided with practiced ease. 

“Not too tight for you, I hope?” She shook her head carefully, not wanting to accidentally tug her own hair. “Good. I did not want it to come loose again after last time.”

Heda snorted at the memory. Silence soon stretched between them, but neither of them minded very much. Silence was good sometimes.

Then, she broke it with five words: “It happened again last night.”

Tova’s fingers stilled, the braid unfinished. “The charms are not working.” A statement.

“Or it’s not what we thought it was.” The Avvar had done so much for her already, but at some point there had to be things beyond even their wisdom. “Maybe it’s residual trauma from wandering around in the snow? Or from bonding with a spirit?” 

She felt a twinge of sadness radiate from within her. Hope had only wanted to help. _I know_ , she thought. _And I’m grateful._

Tova went back to braiding her hair, tying the end off the one she had been working on and moving on to the next one . “We will speak with the augur later. See what must be done.”

She thought it was a test. Heda should have expected that. She had seen the lengths that the others had gone to appease their gods when they believed they had wronged them. And Tova thought these nightmares were a sign from the gods that she had no favor from them. 

Fuck.

Finished with the final braid, Tova ran her fingers over her work, tucking in loose strands and rearranging a braid that had fallen. “I am to be helping the Master of the Hunt this morning. But then we will find out what plagues you, my cub. You have my word.”

“I know.” She had no doubt Tova would do all that she could do to help, and it did wonders in reassuring her. Of all the places she could have ended up, she ended up here with someone who was more than willing to go to bat for her in times of strife.

If that wasn’t a blessing, she didn’t know what was.

Once Heda had secured her pouch around her waist, they donned their cloaks and headed out for the day. They had barely stepped past the threshold of their cabin before Thorvard was upon them, the large man looking more nervous than Heda had ever seen him.

Sparing her only the briefest of glances, he told Tova, “Come. Our Thane wishes to speak with the hunters.”

“Now?” Tova frowned. “Did something happen?” 

His eyes darted back to Heda, who eased behind her companion in response. “I do not know for certain. Thora told me to collect the hunters, so I am here following orders. As you should be.”

Well, someone was feeling pissy. She looked to Tova to see how she would respond, but she merely shrugged. “You cannot fault me for asking, Thorvard. There has been no talk of a hunt so that we may prepare for the _släktmöte_.”

Right. Heda had somehow managed to forget about the gathering of the various Avvar clans that was to be taking place in the spring. Frosthold was to be the host for the _släktmöte_ because of its distinction of being the place where the first Avvar settled down after breaking off with the Alamarri. At least, that was what the skald had told her.

She was pulled back to the moment by Tova’s attention on her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”, she asked, her face hot.

“The thane wishes to speak with you as well.”

The thane received her after speaking with the hunters in her longhouse. By outward appearances, the longhouse was built very much like the other buildings in Frosthold; what set it apart was how it was decorated. Engraved in the walls were various scenes from Avvarian history and folklore. She recognized one such scene as depicting Imhar the Clever leading an army of demons through a mountain pass. Another trickster, getting the better of his prey. 

What also made the longhouse unique was the fact that the other end of the hall was divided into a series of small rooms from which the thane could receive guests. Heda had met Thane Thora An Katri in one of those rooms once she had been able to properly walk on her own two feet. It was she who had given her the name of Heda, and the legend-mark of Snow-walker. 

She watched the hunters file out of one of the back rooms, and tried to catch Tova’s attention when she spotted her thick, natural hair. To her surprise, however, she was ignored. Before she could dwell on it long, a woman’s voice called her name from inside the room Tova had just left.

Thora An Katri, although human, shared many similarities with Tova: they both had the same dark coloring and sharp features that lent them strong airs of intensity upon a first meeting, That same level of intensity could be seen in Thora’s eyes--liquid gold rather than Tova’s nearly black--and did nothing to sooth the sudden burst of nerves as Heda stepped inside. 

Thora sat behind a desk, the surface covered with numerous books and correspondences. Her falcon, Rilla, sat on her perch in a corner. The thane’s study then, a sanctuary from the flurry of activity of the hall just beyond the door.

“Heda Snow-Walker,” she said, with a brief bow of her head. “You have my greetings. Please, take a seat.”

Heda did so, trying to figure out what she had done wrong to warrant the summons. “If this is about what happened with Stigandr, I told him that I would do my best to corre--”

“This is not about what happened with the augur,” Thora cut her off. “Tell me, what do you know of the night-gangers?”

Her shoulders fell back against her chair, temporary relief shifting into confusion. Night-gangers? “Precious little, I’m afraid. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard such a term.”

With a flick of her fingers, the thane summoned a tiny flame on her fingertips, using it to light the contents of a pipe. “Your kin in the lowlands would know them as darkspawn.”

Shit. Shitshitshit. She tried, and failed, to keep her face blank. _Do not lie to her_ , Hope warned, ever attentive of fears. _She will know._

“D-darkspawn?” The word tripped on her tongue. “I’ve heard the tales, of course. But they’re all gone, aren’t they? Destroyed after the last Blight.” 

Thora’s thin eyebrows rose, the corners of her mouth quirking in a brief spasm of what one might have called a smile. “That is what they say, yes. However, it has recently come to my attention that scouts have found remains of what appears to be a genlock not far from where you were found by my hunters.”

Dread curled in her stomach. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

The other woman nodded. “Aye, it does not. Which is why I asked you to join me here this morning. I had hopes that you would be able to offer insight.”

“What insight could I possibly provide?”

“For the night-gangers themselves? Precious little, I fear.” She leaned forward against the desk, watching Heda. “We are not so foolish as to believe as the lowlanders do. The dwarva have been fighting against these monsters for centuries, long after those on the surface world broke through their ranks. If I wished to know how to fight such creatures, I would ask the dwarves.”

Heda bit back the snark that wanted to slip out. “Why am I here then?”

“I did not become thane by accepting everything at face value, Heda,” Thora’s voice had taken on an edge, close enough to cut her if she did not tread carefully. “One must look to the signs that the gods provide us. You arrive on our doorstep and the first night-ganger seen on the surface in centuries appears in the same area.” She sat back. “You can understand my concern.”

“No, I really can’t.” At some point, Heda had straightened in her seat. “If you think the gods are sending you some sort of sign, with all due respect my thane, you should speak with the Augur. I may hold Frosthold’s spirit guardian inside of me, but that does not mean I am privy to what the gods want from you!”

The ensuing silence that stretched between them was suffocating. Heda wanted to bolt, to find some place as far away from there as she possibly could. 

“You speak true, Heda Snow-walker.” Thora had eased back in her seat, the tip of her pipe clamped firmly between her teeth. “Forgive me, I forget my place sometimes. This is not a matter I should come to you about. You are still new to our ways.”

“If I could help you, I would.” She hoped she could hear the sincerity in her voice. “I don’t want anything to happen to our hold. If I knew anything I thought might endanger us, you would be the first to know of it.” 

Thora's expression turned thoughtful, as if she were weighing her words carefully. Then, ”In a month’s time, an envoy will be sent to trade with the dwarves of Orzammar. You will join them.”

She waved her hand, clearly dismissing her, but Heda did not move. “Why?”

“Because you have recovered well enough that I believe you can make the journey. And I believe it would do you good to meet with our allies. You are, of course, free to remain here if you so choose.” She waved her hand again. “Now, if you will excuse me, there is much to be done and little time to do it.”

A polite way of telling her to fuck off, Heda thought. “Of course.” But as she got to her feet, she could not shake the unease of what had just transpired. 

Darkspawn. Only one had been spotted, but surely more were to follow. And if that was the case…

The Fifth Blight had begun. 


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she wants to survive here, Heda needs to know how to defend herself

Tova was not waiting for her in the hall, nor was she in the immediate surroundings outside. Bereft of the companionship she sought after her meeting with the thane, Heda didn’t know what she should do. A myriad of emotions warred inside of her; If she didn't want to give into any one of them, she needed to find a way to distract herself.

Hope, ever vigilant, did its best to soothe, but some things were beyond even the spirit's capabilities. Fortunately, her feet brought her to the shrine of the All-Father.

According to the legends, Frosthold was the first home of the Avvar, the place where they settled after breaking off from the other Alamarri. Here, the shrine dedicated to Korth was the largest found amongst the Avvar, because it was the first. This was holy ground. Few were allowed to step here: Stigandr, as befitting of his role as augur to Frosthold, and his acolytes. And herself, she supposed, but only because of her role as host to the hold’s guardian spirit. 

Stigandr sat in front of the statue of the All-Father, his wrinkle-lined face arranged into an expression of contemplation. Heda said nothing as she sat next to him, her hands coming together in an attempt to mirror his. She didn't know if she prayed to the All-Father or to the one lowlanders called the Maker. She didn’t know if either would care for her worries, but the knot that had begun to form between her shoulders gradually eased as she mouthed the words she kept in her heart.

“The life of the Avvar is not an easy one.” Beside her, Stigandr opened his eyes. “We do our best to serve the All-Father and Our Lady of the Skies, but they are not always pleased with our actions. It is up to us to make amends for any slights, imagined or not.”

He turned to look at her. “There are those among us who would believe the presence of a lowlander in our hold to be an ill omen. Word already spreads of the ganger’s appearance in the mountains.” Stigandr raised one withered hand, silencing her just as she opened her mouth to speak. “Tell me, Snow-Walker: what do the gods say of these strange times we now live in?”

How in hell was she supposed to answer that? Once, he had come to her to speak with Hope about matters concerning the hold. But he’d never asked her to interpret the will of the gods. She felt like a student being given her final exam at the start of the semester. 

“I can’t speak on behalf of the gods,” she said, when it appeared he truly expected an answer from her. “Only myself.”

“Then what say you?”

Her breath caught, but she forged ahead. “You’ve told me of the night-gangers before. They corrupt all they touch. And that lowlanders thought they had wiped them out. But that’s not true, is it?”

She knew it wasn’t, but she still looked to him for confirmation. Stigandr merely watched her, his expression unreadable. “The dwarves have been fighting them all this time. And they’re losing the fight. But if the gangers are here, on the surface, then they’re coming here deliberately. You know what that means.”

He rose so quickly, she flinched, fearing a blow that never came. When she finally looked, she was startled to see Stigandr holding a hand out to her, offering to help her to her feet. “What?” 

“Our thane tells me you will be joining those travelling to Orzammar in the coming month.” He helped her rise from her seat. “ You will need some martial training before then.” Stigandr moved towards the exit.

“Martial training? You want me to learn how to fight?” Her insides twisted at the thought. “What about my training with the spirits? The herbalism and healing? Can’t I use that? Why must I learn to fight?”

“No.” They passed the rook, where the falcons were housed, and the den where the hold beast currently slept away the harsh winter. Stigandr ignored them. “What I have taught you will not help you in a combat setting. You need different training for that.”

A mistake, she thought, but she did not fall behind. “Can’t I ask Tova for help?”

“Tova still thinks you a cub needing to suck on her teat,” he said. “Better you learn to fight from someone who will not coddle you.”

“But what if I want to be coddled?” she muttered. If Stigandr heard her, he did not answer. 

She tried to guess where he was headed, mentally eliminating her choices as they passed home after home. Some of the craftsmen working on their wares nodded as the pair passed, but Stigandr barely broke his stride as they passed through the residential section of the hold into the training grounds. 

It was only then that Heda realized who the augur intended to ask to train her. Shit.

The arena trainer stood overlooking the arena, like a queen overseeing her kingdom. And for all intents and purposes, the arena was Ette An Kattrin’s kingdom. It was she who held contests to test the mettle of the hold’s warriors and the prowess of its rogues. She would be the final factor in determining if one held the favor of Hakon, god of winter and warfare. 

As far as Heda knew, Ette had never sent an Avvar into battle if she did not think they would succeed. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck.

“Good day to you, Stig,” Ette said, not tearing her gaze away from the field as the augur joined her on the platform. “If you were hoping to see the fighters, they will not be competing for another fortnight.”

“I do not come for the fighters, my dear.” Heda reached the final step in time to see Stigandr gesture in her direction. “She needs training.”

“Unfortunately, I have no trainers to spare. Halfdan just took on his last apprentice. You’d have to wait until---” Ette tilted her head, finally catching on. It was enough to pull her gaze from the arena. “You wish me to train the lowlander.”

“She is to be traveling with the traders at the end of the month,” Stigandr explained. “She needs to understand the basics before that time, if nothing else.”

Ette switched her attention to Heda, and Heda had to fight the urge to bolt. One did not simply turn their back on a lioness. Not if they valued their well-being. “You ask a great deal of me, Stig,” she drawled. “I cannot grant skill if Hakkon does not will it.”

He shook his head. “I do not wish to have her judged for Hakkon’s approval. I ask you to teach her how to defend herself.”

“Girl!” Ette addressed her now. “Here.” She flung something in Heda’s general direction.

She jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a nasty tumble down the steps. A dagger, no larger than the one strapped to her belt, stood embedded in the exact place she had stood a moment earlier.

“An astute response,” Ette said. She retrieved her dagger before giving Heda another glance over. “If you can dodge my dagger, you can dodge any attack thrown at you.” 

She turned to Stigandr. “I will think on this matter. Will this evening suffice?”

“It will have to.” Stigandr bowed to her in thanks. “Come,” he added to Heda. “There is still much for us to speak on.”

With a final glance at the arena master, Heda obeyed.

Ette informed her that evening that her training would begin the next morning.

Fuck.

“Again!” Ette ordered. 

From the ground, Heda moaned in pain. Every part of her ached, even the places where she didn’t know she could ache. Hope did its best to soothe, but she swore she heard joints cracking beneath her training leathers as she pushed herself upright.

Ette circled her like she was a feast ripe for the taking. Retrieving her quarterstaff from where it had been knocked aside, Heda shifted into a defensive stance. She blocked Ette’s low blow, only to be caught by a side swipe from the warrior’s own staff. Ette pressed the advantage, forcing her to go on offense.

She swung wide, and Ette ducked. Using that momentum, she tried to sweep Ette’s legs out from under her, only to have it blocked. Ette’s snarl was the only warning she received before she was forced to her knees with a well aimed jab. 

“Do you yield?” her opponent growled. 

The tip of her staff dug into Heda’s neck, emphasizing the vulnerable position she was now in. It had been like this since the moment Ette began training her. After she showed her the basic stances for holding a quarterstaff, Ette gave her no reprieve. Each training session was a fight. Either she fought back or she lost. And even when she fought back, she lost.

Heda’s fingers tightened around her staff. “No.” She went low, but Ette blocked it. The next attempt gave her enough time to scramble to her feet before Ette’s staff could connect. 

But her determination could not beat Ette’s instinct. Ette honed her skills with years of training and discipline. Heda was only just starting out and it showed. After a minute or two of trading blows, Heda found herself on her back, disarmed. 

She’d lost. Again.

“You are forgetting your footing,” Ette told her. Closing the gap between them, she offered a hand. “You must be aware of it at all times. Otherwise your opponent will catch you off guard. You lead them; they do not lead you.”

Yes, she knew that. Actually executing it, however, was another matter. Her body was stiff and awkward, like a newborn colt. Trying to hit Ette was difficult enough, but trying to step into the correct position at the same time? Impossible.

“Rest and get something to drink.” Ette said. “We will work on your strength training next. Your hits need more power behind them.”

Great. Heda limped over to the bench where she had left her waterskin. As she sat down, the sound of steel against steel drew her attention.

She was not the only one to be training today. The training grounds were often a hotbed of activity as warriors trained in Hakkon’s honor. Even as many had left the hold to aid in a hunt, there were plenty who remained.

Heda recognized the young fighter wielding two daggers: Ragna, one of the Avvar that had found her on the mountain. She had been part of a scouting party that returned to the hold that morning. Judging by the grim set of her face, the way her blades danced in the light of the afternoon sun, she was working off some frustration with her dueling partner.

Sweat gleamed as Ragna’s bare arms flexed to shield herself from a blow. Heda reached for her waterskin, taking two big gulps before she remembered to pace herself.

Ette sat down next to her, drinking from her own waterskin. “I fear Stigandr will need your assistance later.”

Her attention shifted to her trainer. “Why’s that?”

“This is the second party we’ve sent out to return with scouts missing.” Ette jerked her head in Ragna’s direction. “Others are not taking the news well. It makes them careless.”

“Can’t say I blame them.” Heda rolled her shoulders, trying to work out a knot that had formed between them. “It’s hard, losing family like that.”

“Is that what happened to yours?”

She blinked. Ette had never seemed particularly interested in her past, aside from if she had previous martial training. “No. They’re, uh, still out there. Somewhere. Too far for me to search for them.” She tried not to think about it too much.

“I see.” She nearly jumped when she felt Ette’s hand on her shoulder. “You are welcome among our people. We will be your family.”

Tova had told her as much when she first woke, but to hear it from someone else.... “Thank you,” she managed. 

Ette shrugged. “I only speak the truth. There are others who would disagree, of course, but they do not speak for us all.”

She thought back to what Stigandr had said. “They think I’m a bad omen.”

“They are afraid,” Ette corrected. “And are content to lash out at those they see as weaker than they are. Cowards.” She took another drink from her waterskin, set it aside. “Come. It is time for us to continue. If they want to lash at you, we’ll show them you are not without claws.”

That was...oddly motivating. “Okay,” Heda said, and returned to her training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we doing friends? These are difficult times, but I hope to find you all well. Know that I love each and every one of you, and that you are valid no matter what others may say.
> 
> Though she doesn't appear in this chapter, enjoy this lovely fanart of Tova that my friend and mutual writing buddy, spacedfoxes, made me  
> [](https://imgur.com/EX13l0z)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been...such a long time coming. Seriously, this was probably years in the making. It's a story I want to tell, that I feel needs to be told. 
> 
> And I hope, dear reader, that you'll join me on this journey down the rabbit hole.


End file.
